Completion Sports
Killian MacGregor, The Mac, or Mac the Knife, as fans called him because of his throwing arm, was my savior.
Sudden lack of oxygen caused the room to whirl, but it didn’t keep me from gaping at six and a half feet of boiling testosterone. I took in every delectable inch from head to toe. Broad strokes made his face a work of art—heavy eyebrows, dark pools for eyes, high cheekbones, his jaw…almost too perfectly square with full lips displaying a not-so-pleased scowl. My eyes traveled down over his corded neck to his black t-shirt, which looked painted over each straining muscle. Jeans encased his long legs down to his black leather boots. My eyes, with a will of their own, traveled back up to
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